


love made me crazy

by noodlecatposts



Series: Love Made Me Crazy AU [1]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlecatposts/pseuds/noodlecatposts
Summary: Aelin shares a familiar, fond grin with Dorian, and Rowan’s stomach twists, his blood heating by the second. That thrill he’d felt under the warmth of Aelin’s attention is long gone now, lost to him and replaced with—With jealousy. Rowan is jealous.
Relationships: Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien & Rowan Whitethorn, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn
Series: Love Made Me Crazy AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620013
Comments: 58
Kudos: 241





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fic! Jealous!Rowan! FWB.
> 
> <3

Rowan couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She was stunning. The rest of the attendees seemed to agree, incapable of keeping themselves from staring either. Interested in women or not, everyone in the room had their eye on Aelin. She was magnetic.

Rowan didn’t want to give himself too much credit, but every bone in his body was telling him that Aelin picked that gown out with him in mind. The off the shoulder red velvet number was designed to torture him. She knew how he felt about her in the color red, and that daring slit on the side was cut that high for the sole purpose of undoing Rowan’s self-control.

Aelin knows he’s a leg man, knows how the right shade of red lipstick could keep Rowan’s eyes glued to her lips all evening. It wouldn’t be the first time she made use of the tools at her disposal.

It made her feel powerful, she’d admitted one night in the dark, after the rest of the world had fallen asleep.

Rowan himself was on the cusp of unconsciousness at the time, temporarily sated by the long hours he’d spent worshiping her body. Aelin usually stayed awake for a while afterward, invigorated by the sex rather than depleted by it. Aelin was insatiable. He loved it.

“That’s because you like making men feel powerless at your feet, Fireheart.” He’d muttered barely awake. She’d giggled at the new moniker and slide in close, rested her head on his chest, and gave him an inscrutable expression.

“Does it work? Does it make you feel powerless?” Aelin asked, voice filled with her typical arrogance.

He grunted, reaching out to lace his fingers in her hair and massage her scalp. Aelin hummed as he looked her over, the hints of that red lipstick still there on her lips. He knew if he looked in the mirror, Rowan would find traces of it all over him. On his lips and his jaw. Down his neck and shoulders. Lower to his stomach. Lower.

Aelin liked to mark him. Rowan was always keen to repay the favor.

“Every time,” Rowan admitted, at last, eyes falling shut. “You get me every time.”

*

“Fuck,” Elide swears from beside him, and Rowan’s eyes slide to her in curiosity. “Even I’d go home with Aelin right now if she asked.”

Rowan bites his lip to hide his smile, following the young woman’s gaze to where Aelin held court. Perched on top of the bar, the woman was surrounded by admirers. Rowan knew Aelin was good at her job, had more than earned her place at the top of her family’s company, but Rowan also knew that that dress wasn’t doing her any disadvantages.

“Gross,” Aedion complains from where he sits. Dressed in a sharp navy suit, Aelin’s cousin and partner in crime isn’t looking too bad himself. “That’s my cousin you’re talking about.”

“Whatever,” Elide dismisses his complaints with a shrug of her delicate shoulders. “She’s hot. Even Rowan keeps looking, and he hates Aelin.”

A lie, of course. But not one that Elide or anyone else sitting at their table and laughing at Aedion’s disturbed expression knew about. No one knew that Aelin and he were spending time together. Or how they were spending that time. None of their friends even knew they could tolerate each other.

They’d never suspect that Aelin, tired of waiting in the cold for Rowan to buzz her in, had long ago hacked the code to his apartment building. They’d never believe it if Rowan told them that he knew precisely how Aelin liked her coffee: “One cream. Five sugars. Do not judge me, Rowan Whitethorn.”

They’d never expect to find Aelin curled up on his couch, dressed in his clothes and watching shitty daytime television that she knew got on his nerves.

And they definitely didn’t know that their CEO spent most weekends at his apartment, naked in his bed and chanting his name.

Rowan doesn’t know when they switched from the insulting barbs to moaning baby in bed to crying each other’s names out in ecstasy, but they had. And he wasn’t inclined to stop it.

“So,” Lysandra purrs from the opposite side of the table, where she pretends not to preen under the attention of one very smitten Ashryver cousin. The only man immune to Aelin’s charm. “Who do we think she’s going home with?”

Rowan’s attention piques at the woman’s words; his stomach plummets at the same time, but he ignores it. They’re not together. They’ve made no promises. Rowan is just as free to take home the sensually curved bartender flirting with him as Aelin is to wander off with Dorian—an old flame. He thought they were long since over, and yet, there the man was, smiling mischievously and exchanging banter with Aelin as she rests her hand on his arm.

It was fine. Rowan wasn’t bothered.

The gala is for charity, for the Mistward Children’s Hospital. A cause that is very dear to Aelin, and Rowan could tell, even from a distance, that Aelin was going to work very, very hard to drum up as much fundraising as humanly possible tonight. It was there in the set of determination in her brow and the dazzling smile she wore in the direction of donors. Aelin was only at this party to work, to move money.

She was good at it too.

Rowan had to work very hard not to watch Aelin as she circled the room. She smiled with the doctor’s and danced with the rich folk from around town. The belle of the ball, someone called her. When Rowan overheard, he immediately agreed. Silently. To himself.

While Aelin worked the room, the gang spent their evening in their little bubble. Eventually, someone was going to tell them to get up and network, but that was unlikely to happen. Aedion was only one obligated to win over donors; Lysandra and Elide were guests, friends of the boss. Rowan was there out of professional duty, but the man was in charge of security, not networking.

Instead, their friends spent the time dancing and drink and picking on each other. The usual, really. They just usually weren’t dressed this nicely.

Lysandra starts a betting pool, and Rowan’s blood heats at the idea of it all. That Aelin was some kind of trophy to be won, nothing more than a prize—something to gain in exchange for charity.

Worse was how it became clear that the guests saw her in such a way as well. Aelin was never without admirers or dance partners, all vying for her attentions. Yet, it became apparent quickly that Dorian was her focus for the evening.

Rowan tried once or twice to intercept her, to catch Aelin’s eye, or invite himself into a conversation she was a part of. Yet, his efforts were fruitless, unnoticed by the object of his desire. Aelin was busy seeking other ventures, and Rowan was never very good at small talk, anyway. Still, he found himself wishing she’d notice him.

Rowan works very hard to appear like he doesn't care.

But he does care. He cares a lot.

“You look very handsome tonight,” a voice Rowan would recognize anywhere says. A hand runs down his back, straight down his spine, and sets the hair on his neck on end. “Who’d you get all dressed up for?”

Rowan turns his best glare on Aelin. She’s dazzling up close, and without his permission, his eyes tail the golden chain resting around her neck, following the path it paints across her collarbones to the diamond she wears, nestling between her breasts.

He catches himself, eyes darting back up to Aelin’s. Those turquoise eyes sparkle with knowing and mischief. Rowan clears his throat.

“Oh, this old thing?” Rowan says rather flatly, ignoring the thrill he gets from her attention. Aelin raises a brow at him; her lips are already twitching in amusement. “It’s just something I threw on.”

It might be the biggest lie of his life. He’d spent some money on this custom-tailored suit, spent hours toiling over whether or not it was too much, or the right shade of black—because there were shades of black. Gods, the horror he’d felt when the tailor revealed that to him.

They shared a secret smile, and for a second, Rowan can pretend that it’s just the two of them, that they were standing at a bar on his side of town, having a drink before heading back to his place for a cozy evening in his bed.

Then Dorian Havillard walks up and wraps his arm around the small of Aelin’s waist; Rowan watches, with no small amount of surprise, as the man pulls Aelin close to his side and smiles down of Aelin like he was the luckiest man in the room. He kind of is. Rowan tries not to gape. Or punch him in the face.

Aelin shares a familiar, fond grin with Dorian, and Rowan’s stomach twists, his blood heating by the second. That thrill he’d felt under the warmth of Aelin’s attention is long gone now, lost to him and replaced with—

With jealousy. Rowan is jealous.

“Havilliard,” Rowan greets the man brusquely. There’s no other way to greet a man who’s got his arm wrapped around Aelin like that. A prize. Aelin’s not to be won. She’s the kind of woman that deserves to be earned, that deserves someone to work for her.

Not owned. Not possessed.

Dorian looks a little put out by the greeting, and Aelin makes a face at Rowan, trying to meet his eye. Rowan can’t bear the idea of letting her read his thoughts right now. She’ll be pissed if she thinks that Rowan is breaking their deal.

“Whitethorn,” Dorian echoes his greeting with a friendly smile. Too friendly. Rowan just grunts. “You’ll never guess how much this girl just talked me into handing over.”

Aelin beams with pride. “It was a lot,” she tells Rowan, clearly pleased with herself and not showing an ounce of guilt. “But it’s for the kiddos!”

“A good cause,” Dorian agrees.

“She’s tricky like that,” Rowan drawls, taking a sip of his scotch to give himself time to think of an exit strategy. He’ll be needing a lot more scotch if he’s expected to stand here and talk to them. “Better watch out, or she’ll talk you right out of the shirt on your back.”

Dorian grins like a fiend, and Rowan decides at that moment that he hates this man. A lot.

“Now that won’t require a lot of persuading,” he tells Rowan.

Rowan’s going to kill him.

“Right,” Aelin says, eyes darting between the two men and trying to figure out the male ritual transpiring in front of her. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“Make that two,” Dorian says, following Aelin toward the bar with a hand pressed to her back.

“Fen is calling me,” Rowan tells the couple. Fenrys is not calling him, but it doesn’t stop the silver-headed male from walking away. He’s not eager to engage in conversation anymore.

“Looks like Dorian’s the winner,” Lysandra purrs as Rowan rejoins the table. There are more than a few empty glasses; they’ve been busy. “Aedion pay up.”

“Fuck,” the blonde swears. “I hate that guy.”

“Me, too,” Rowan says before he can stop himself. The group at the table freezes, all eyes falling to Rowan.

Fenrys grins. His best friend doesn’t know he’s sleeping with Aelin, but if anyone’s noticed that Rowan’s been in a better mood, its Fenrys. Bastard.

*

Things only get worse as the evening goes on. Aelin and her companion disappear from the party, and Rowan’s mind runs rampant with the implications of this discovery. A drunken Elide and Lysandra only stoke the flames of his imagination with their quips about Dorian’s reputation in the bedroom.

He needs another drink.

Fenrys finds him at the bar. The man pretends not to be there for the sole purpose of checking on Rowan, but both men know it’s all a ruse. He takes a seat beside Rowan and gives him a hard look with those impenetrable dark eyes of his.

Then: “Someone’s particularly grumpy this evening.”

A grunt.

“And someone looked rather cheerful earlier... talking with Aelin.”

Another grunt.

“One might think that the two instances are related.”

Rowan turns his green eyes on his friend, daring him to say more. Fenrys just grins.

“I think it’s time for me to head home,” Rowan tells him.

*

Rowan’s foul mood only grows worse during the cab ride home. He hates paying for it; it’s so expensive, and he’d rather drive himself. However, Rowan’s smart enough to know he’s indulged in a little too much drink to undertake such a task as driving home.

Traffic is terrible. Rowan is grumpy. And Aelin doesn’t text him like she usually does after a party like this.

She’s usually all too eager to play the game where they both sneak away from the group individually with their own made-up excuses before meeting up at his place. Yet, Aelin doesn’t text him once that evening, and Rowan is too stubborn to reach out to her first. Especially when she’s probably out with Dorian.

When Rowan drops his keys at the landing to his floor, he swears a string of oaths that would definitely earn him a bar of soap to the mouth. His mother never did like cursing, always chided him for it. But he’s pissed off and ready for bed, and how dare his keys fall to the ground?

Rowan catches sight of a red velvet skirt and jerks upright.

Aelin smiles at him, head tilted to one side, as she leans against his front door. She looks just as flawless as she did back at the party. Not a hair out of place. That red lipstick Rowan likes so much is fresh; he knows her well enough by now to know that Aelin probably reapplied it on the car ride over.

“What are you doing here?” Rowan asks, gruff.

Aelin bites her lip, and the message is clear.

Without another word, Rowan opens the door and lets her in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who doesn’t love (reading about) a guy in denial, right?   
> warning for nsfw/mature content. this one got a little naughty.

Rowan jerks awake the next morning.

It takes his brain all of two seconds to figure out what’s going on, and Rowan groans deeply at the sight of Aelin kneeling over his thighs, her mouth on him. Those turquoise eyes smile up at him in mischief as one of her hands sneaks lower, massaging him.

Rowan’s eyes practically roll back into his head at the overwhelming sensations. Aelin’s had enough time with him to learn the ins and outs of his body, to figure out what provokes the best reactions out of him, how to get him to thrash under her fingertips. She likes breaking that calm facade he wears.

His hips jerk upwards, and Aelin hums, rubbing her thighs together as she works him. Nails scrap down the tops of his legs, and Rowan reaches to wrap her hair around his fingers. Her blonde hair has long since lost the style from the gala, pulled and combed out by Rowan’s hands. He really likes her hair.

“A,” he croons. “Fuck, baby. That feels so good.”

Another hum. Aelin takes him as deeply as she can, moaning when Rowan tugs her hair.

“Gods,” he sighs. He’s not a talker in his everyday life nor the bedroom, but when Aelin admitted she liked hearing him talk to her, well, that changed too.

Rowan has to tug her away eventually. He can feel his control slipping, the end to his fun, and Rowan doesn’t want that yet, craves the feeling of her walls wrapped around him. Her warmth.

Aelin makes a little sound of protest that has Rowan laughing softly, tugging her up against his body for an intense kiss. It’s languid, an exploration. He sweeps his tongue into her mouth, lazily, in no rush to hurry things along; it earns the man a bite to his bottom lip. Aelin’s teeth press just shy of hard enough to draw blood.

“Brat,” Rowan murmurs into her mouth, frowning even as she kisses away the hurt. He slides a hand down the front of her body and slips a finger into her, groaning at what he finds there. Aelin rocks her hips encouragingly.

“Is that all for me, baby?”

Aelin whimpers and begins to drag her lips roughly down his throat in lieu of an answer. It feels good—great, but his mind has one sole focus, and that’s getting his fingers crooked just right inside of Aelin.

“Fuck, Ro,” Aelin gasps, and Rowan knows he’s found the right spot. “Don’t stop.”

He works her body, sucks at her throat, and rocks his fingers inside her against that sensitive spot. Aelin straddles his lap, moving her hips in a desperate hunt for more. _More_. In minutes, her body jerks and Aelin cries his name, digs her nails into his skin. When she leans forward, her teeth scrape the skin at the crook of his neck.

Rowan wasn’t surprised to find out that the fiery woman he’d taken to bed was a biter, liked to mix just a little pain with her pleasure.

Rowan wastes little time in sliding Aelin off of him and onto her belly. She moans as he moves her blonde hair to the side, kisses at the nape of her neck, and down her spine.

“Rowan,” Aelin purrs after a time. “That’s enough teasing. I need you inside me—now.”

Rowan moans into her skin at her command. He lifts her hips and complies with her request, reaching for a condom.

Aelin gasps at the feeling of him entering her, digging her fingers into the bed beneath her. Rowan savors the moment, pushing and pulling slow and sweet, but Aelin doesn’t like that, protesting with her own body, rocking her hips back with a little more insistence.

“Always so impatient,” Rowan teases.

Aelin isn’t having it. “Just fuck me already.”

This part is always quick and dirty. They don’t engage in the slow and sensual, and Aelin is pretty clear in what she likes: rough, tight grips and biting kisses. Hard, deep thrusts. Minimal intimacy.

Aelin tips over the edge seconds before Rowan does. She sighs happily as their bodies part, stretching out across the mattress with a pleased expression. He joins her minutes later, and they lie together in bed, catching their breath, cooling off.

After her skin has cooled, Aelin tucks herself close to him, propping herself up with one arm and grabbing his chin with the other. He grunts in protest at the domineering but kisses her back greedily when her lips lock onto his.

It’s a lot like the kiss from earlier. Filled with intent. With an edge of possessiveness. A reminder of what burns between them: passion, lust—something carnal and untamed.

It doesn’t mean anything, Rowan tells himself. Just like it doesn’t matter that he practically turned himself inside out stressing over Aelin leaving with Dorian.

Aelin used to slide right out of his bed and disappear into the night afterward; now, sometimes, she stays, dozes in his arms, and begs for breakfast in bed. But not today, it seems.

The blonde in his arms sighs. “I need to get up.”

Rowan grunts, tightening his grip on her body, and Aelin huffs a breathless laugh at him. She slaps at his chest, playfully and pulls away, sitting upright in his bed and ruffling her hair.

“I have to meet my parents for breakfast. The Havilliard’s will be there. I will have hell to pay if I’m late,” she shoots him a pointed look. “More so if I’m wearing last night’s dress.”

Her words sour his good mood. “Your bag is in the closet.”

“Thank you,” she smacks another kiss to his lips and retreats from the bed. Rowan isn’t sure when the casual affection started. Kissing used to be limited to sex. Not goodbyes or thank you’s or just _because_.

Not that he minds. It’s a product of the familiarity that’s grown between them, Rowan tells himself, from long hours and multiple nights together—days. Weekends.

“What’s the breakfast for?” Rowan asks when Aelin emerges from the shower. He had half a mind to go and join her, but he didn’t want to get into trouble for delaying her. There’s nothing like an angry Aelin.

When she answers, he wishes he had—delayed her. Hell, kept her in bed all day. Kept her to himself.

“Oh, you know, typical rich people stuff,” Aelin rolls her eyes, shaking the water from her hair. Rowan smiles as he watches her, doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Sometimes we like to get together and talk about being rich and successful,” Aelin shoots him an exasperated look.

“That’s all?” Rowan drawls, hoping his voice doesn’t betray him. It bothers him a little sometimes, the difference in their backgrounds. Aelin is practically royalty in this city. Everyone recognizes her, knows her name.

“Well,” she sets her hands on her hips. “My parents heard Dorian moved back to town, and now they’re hellbent on marrying us off together.”

“Oh?” Rowan says, careful.

It’s incredible how she can speak the words without any concern. “They want us to make pretty grandchildren for them to spoil.”

Aelin’s parents are trying to fix her up with someone—someone else. Someone they find appropriate. Not that they know about Rowan; he highly doubts she’s mentioned his existence to her parents. Her fuckbuddy.

“Yeah, so that’ll be fun,” she shrugs, hopping into his lap and planting a brief, suggestive kiss to his lips.

Rowan can’t resist tugging her back into his lap when she tries to get up. Aelin squeals, laughing until he captures her mouth with his, gives her the kind of kiss Rowan knows will leave her breathless, aching for more.

It’s all he can do, Rowan thinks. 

Aelin tells him to enjoy his day and leaves his apartment.

They’re not together after all. Aelin is free to date whoever she wants. And so is Rowan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved all of your comments last update! Writing is funny because I saw all of you saying something along the lines of “No, Rowan, don’t do it!” and I was confused. Then I reread my own writing and was like: Oh. Yeah, he’s totally going to be stupid.   
> Anyway, here’s the next part. Don’t worry, he’s not being dumb– yet.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

Rowan starts at the brash sound of Aedion’s booming voice. It echos in the nearly empty lift and Rowan glares at him. It’s much too early for anyone to be so loud. Rowan hasn’t had nearly enough coffee to deal with the man standing next to him in such a tiny enclosed space.

“What?” Rowan grunts, squinting at the man in front of him.

Terrasen Industries is a modern sort of place, designed with lots of light and windows and hanging plants. It was too bright for Rowan’s mood this morning, the place far too shiny in the morning light. He’s in a bad mood, doesn’t care for all the sleek, modern ambiance.

If anyone were to ask, Rowan would blame his attitude on the morning he was having. Traffic was particularly terrible today, and the never-ending line for coffee had not done him any good either. It was going to be a long day.

Aelin never returned to the apartment that weekend. She’d spent it out with her parents and the Havilliard’s. And Dorian.

Rowan learned all of this via social media. She hadn’t returned his texts, not that Aelin was required to do so. He’d just wanted to see her. That was all.

“You look way too pissy for someone who clearly got laid this weekend,” Aedion interrupts Rowan’s thoughts with a devious grin.

Rowan starts, which only makes Aedion laugh. Shit. Did their friends figure it out? His heart leaped. Or did Aelin tell someone? Lysandra? 

Wait. That didn’t make sense. If Aedion was grinning, then Aelin’s cousin certainly did not know who Rowan was sleeping with.

Still, none of that would explain how Aedion knew what he did. Or suspected. And Rowan didn’t credit Aedion sharp enough to make that wild guess.

Besides, Rowan and Aelin… They’d agreed to keep things under wraps. Private. People liked to judge situations like theirs, and in Aelin’s line of work, she was under constant scrutiny. 

Aedion smirks at him and surprises Rowan, reaching out and tapping the man on the neck in a definite invasion of privacy. No way was that work appropriate.

“By a fucking vampire, too,” Aedion decides. His voice is rich with laughter as he says the words. “Based on the look of your neck. Shit, man.”

Rowan growls when he tries to touch his neck for a second time. Aedion just puts his hands up in surrender, smiling. “Going to give a starved man any details?”

The elevator stops at Rowan’s floor just in time. Rowan shoots Aelin’s cousin a hateful glare, walking away without providing any answers. Aedion wouldn’t want to know about anything if he knew the truth of the matter, and besides, Rowan never had been one for water cooler gossip.

-

His day drags on with little improvement. Rowan gets called in right away to deescalate a situation involving a disgruntled guest and a somewhat intimidating looking pocket knife. Afterward, the cameras decide to go out on the East Stairwell, and Rowan spends an exhilarating two hours on the phone listening to nondescript, upbeat jazz music.

When lunchtime comes around, Rowan is very grateful for the escape. He settles down into his office with a sandwich and enjoys a glorious five minutes alone without interruptions.

Then Fenrys comes in with a sly smile and alarm bells sound of in Rowan’s head. That friend of his is never up to anything good. 

“The boss would like to see you,” the male says. His eyes sparkle with mirth, “before the meeting.”

Rowan Whitethorn has had a lot of practice through the years, making sure his expression remains unreadable at all times, even the direst of circumstances. About two months ago, he wouldn’t have needed to summon that skill to hide the pleasant feeling that seeps into his bones when learning Aelin wants to see him. Two months ago, Rowan would have sneered naturally and complained about being summoned. 

He’s careful not to let his pleasure show now.

“Alright,” Rowan tells his friend, ignoring the look on Fenrys face. He’ll need to be careful with him. The man might be on to them. “Wish me luck.”

Fenrys grins and gives Rowan a salute. It’s a bastardized echo of their military days, and Rowan wants to scold him for it but smiles instead. He has a bit of a soft spot for Fen. Not that he’d ever admit to it.

-

Aelin is a vision, dressed in wide-leg trousers and a pristine white blouse, but Rowan thinks she always looks good. In anything. The blonde flashes him a bright smile as he enters, but Aelin frowns when she remembers herself, remembers where and who they are.

The joy in her eyes, she can’t temper, though, and it makes Rowan feel very warm under the power of her gaze. 

“Buzzard,” Aelin purrs, sitting atop her modern glass desk and crossing her arms. “I hear you stopped an attempt on my life today. My hero.”

Rowan snorts and rolls his eyes at her. “I should’ve just let them have a go at you. Now that would’ve taught them a lesson.”

The smile Aelin flashes him is dangerous. Rowan returns it; he learned very quickly one night, pinned to the mat at his preferred gym, that Aelin was more than capable of handling herself. Thanks to her parents’ worries, she could take care of herself. The Galathynius family worried about the safety of their heir, their pride and joy. It was very dangerous for Aelin as the daughter of two very successful business people. Now an up and coming success herself.

“It was just a pocket knife,” Rowan says to Aelin, coming close, drawn to her like a magnet. “Besides, I think the guy carried it around for show more than anything. I doubt he knew how to use it.”

“Boring,” Aelin decides, earning an incredulous laugh from Rowan. Only she would think it was boring for their security threat to offer no real danger.

“And speaking of boring,” Aelin transitions with a head tilt, “I hear you’ve got a security plan in place for my speech.”

The woman wrinkles her nose at Rowan to tell him just how much she wants to review the protocol. There was a time when Aelin would have refused to view it with him outright, would have ordered him to “Just make sure I don’t die and stay out of my way” and dismissed him.

Aelin’s parents put a stop to that right away when they heard about it. That’s how Rowan and Aelin finally started talking to one another. In cruel and snarky words. Then less cruel.

He imagines he’d be in a lot of trouble if Mr. and Mrs. Galathynius ever found out about them. Aelin, too. It was poor form to date someone working in the company you owned. Not that they were dating, which, of course, made it even worse.

“I do,” Rowan tells her. “But I brought Her Majesty a peace offering.”

Aelin’s eyes drop down to the coffee in his hands. She likely thought it was just for Rowan, but the man had earned himself quite the look ordering something so sweet and opposite his usual blacker than black coffee.

He was too much of a coward to order two, too afraid to get caught doing something as kind as bringing _that mean-hearted bitch_ some coffee. Rowan feels pretty guilty about the things he’s said about Aelin, in retrospect.

“For me?” Aelin’s turquoise eyes sparkle. She sounds particularly touched by the gesture.

But it’s the smile Rowan earns that he was hoping for. Aelin’s eyes are bright and happy as she accepts the cup from his hands, and she has to bite her lip to temper her smile.

Aelin glances over Rowan’s shoulder. No small feat considering his height, but the woman’s heels work to her advantage in this situation. Whatever she finds appears to please her, and Aelin gives Rowan a considering look.

“Kiss me,” Aelin requests, soft and breathless. Rowan’s pulse jumps with surprise. They’re at work. In her glass office. When anyone could see them.

He hesitates, and Aelin rolls her eyes at him. Then she takes hold of the tie he wears and yanks Rowan’s face down to hers, capturing his lips with her own. It’s a good kiss, the kind that makes Rowan stand a little straighter and run his tongue against hers.

Aelin keeps kissing him until his groans softly, the noise escaping the back of his throat. Only then does she break the kiss with a grin made of pure evil.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Aelin tells him, rubbing her thumb against Rowan’s lips to remove the makeup that likely stains them. She takes in his expression and laughs at it.

“I’m going to start being you more coffee,” Rowan tells her, voice rough. Heat flashes in Aelin’s eyes, and she tugs him down for another kiss. This one too short for his liking.

She pulls away with another laugh, has to wipe at his mouth again.

“Best non-boyfriend ever,” she informs him. “Now let’s fix your makeup before the meeting starts, yeah? I don’t think this is the right color red for you.”

Rowan doesn’t like the feeling in his stomach when she speaks the words, but he shakes it off and manages a smile. Aelin cleans him up, and then she heads for her computer, flopping into the chair with little grace.

“So, Buzzard,” she says. “What’s the plan?”

“To keep you alive, I suppose,” Rowan tells her, coming around the back of the desk and looking at the computer over her shoulder.

Aelin snorts, “Very good so far. I approve.”

“You’re much easier to please these days,” Rowan observes with a wry smile. He reaches around her to lean against the desk, putting their bodies as close as possible while Aelin pulls up her emails. 

Aelin glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Yes, well, you’ve had some practice pleasing me. You’ve made remarkable improvement.”

Rowan bites his lip to keep from doing something stupid. Like kissing her along her neck. Aelin’s hair is pulled up, and his eyes keep drifting to the smooth skin revealed. He likes her neck.

“Focus, Buzzard,” Aelin purrs, smirking.

Rowan walks her through the plans for her speech, and Aelin listens intently and without barbs. Now her words are laced with more provocative implications that hateful insults. They’re comfortable with each other now in a way they never used to be. 

They chat like that, and Aelin plays with his fingers idly, where they lay on the desk beside her own hand. Time flies quickly, and at the sound of the elevator opening, Rowan steps away from Aelin, giving her the space he would normally. Before. He catches a glimpse of a frown on her face, but Rowan doesn’t have the chance to comment.

"Ah, good,” Rhoe Galathynius says as he enters the room. “You two seem to be getting along much better than the last time I saw you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aelin gives her speech.

Aelin Galathynius is something of a socialite.

However, Rowan’s heard all about how she broke free from the mold when she graduated top of her class, diving headfirst into one of the top MBA programs in the country without pausing. Aelin had a multi-million-dollar cooperation to inherit; she needed the skills to keep everything afloat.

Then while her cohorts went on to date fancy men and gossip over mimosas at brunch, Aelin went to work with her parents— _for_ her parents. Anyone who assumed they gave their heiress an easy time was incorrect; Rhoe and Evalin Galathynius put their daughter to work in the basement, filing papers and making copies. From there, she worked every odd and end job in the company until they felt she’d earned the right to be in charge of people, of their prized employees.

Rowan could practically recite the story from memory, he’d listened to her explain it enough times. In defense of herself. With pride for all that she’s accomplished. With remorse for all that she missed out on while trying to fill her parents’ shoes.

It's that story, Aelin is retelling now.

“So, I’m delivering the mail for a while,” Aelin tells the crowd, giving her audience a sparkling smile. Rowan doesn’t know how she does it, enraptures the crowd with just a few words, “and I’m going around from cubicle to cubicle giving people their packages and whatnot every day for weeks. Everyone’s afraid to look me in the eye, to speak with _Aelin Galathynius_ —like I’m scary or something.”

She pauses for the laughter. The crowd chuckles and her parents share a fond exasperated look, “Anyway, I get to the end of the stack one day, and the last of the mail is for the one and only—” The crowd laughs in anticipation, “—that’s right, for Rhoe Galathynius, CEO of Terrasen Industries!”

Aelin plays with her voice, saying her father’s name and title like it’s something to be feared. Rhoe glowers at her, and Evalin smiles at her family, running a hand down her husband's arm as she laughs. The sound is familiar to Rowan—almost identical to Aelin’s.

“Well, former CEO,” Aelin winks back at her parents. The crowd is practically eating from her hands; Rowan sure as hell is.

He’s standing off to the side, dressed in his black suit and shades, his white hair a stark contrast. The lights shine brightly down on the town center that Terrasen Industries has rented for the event; Aelin’s hair glows. She’s left it down for the day, styled into flawless curls that contrast against her navy-blue ensemble.

“Right, so I take the mail upstairs, and my father makes small talk. Then before I leave, he says: _Aelin, I think I’d like to retire in the next six months. Your mother and I want to travel more. Does that sound alright to you?_

“That, folks, is how my father handed Terrasen Industries over to me,” Aelin quirks a brow. Her mother slaps her husband on the arm lightly, laughing, and to Rowan’s surprise, Rhoe Galathynius ducks his head, embarrassed by the call out. “Eloquent man, isn’t he?”

Aelin pauses. Her face turns dangerous, and even if Rowan can’t see them, he can imagine how her eyes burn with passion now, as she prepares to deliver her pledge. The real reason she and her family have paid for this prime venue, gathered friends and family and employees in one spot for the evening, dressed in their best—creating a logistical nightmare for Rowan and his team.

“Obviously, I’m a prime example of privilege,” Aelin tells the audience. They’ve gone silent. “I’m wealthy, white—and blonde hair and blue eyes certainly help.” This time there’s no pause for laughter; Aelin isn’t making small talk anymore. “No doubt, my parents made me work for this life, but I was fortunate. Very fortunate. A lot of people aren’t, through no fault of their own.”

Rowan scans the crowd, partly to fulfill his job and partially to read all of the somber faces in the audience. Aelin did a perfect job, reeled them in with a cute story, and then hit them with the punch line.

“So, as a woman in a position of privilege and power, it’s my job to help those who don’t have ineloquent, well-to-do fathers with corporations to inherit,” she cracks a wry smile to lighten the mood. The audience follows her willingly, chuckling, but the sound isn’t as warm as it was before. Aelin is serious, and they’re with her.

“For this reason, I’m happy to announce on behalf of Terrasen Industries—and thanks in part to the local government of Doranelle—the establishment of the Orynth Group for Empowerment,” Aelin practically glows as she speaks the words. Rowan knows from long nights listening to her rants that this is something she’s wanted to do for a while, to start an organization to help lift those less fortunate, to pay back her community.

Rowan is very, very proud of her.

 _Shit, this girl could be president one day._ Fenrys announces through the headset they all wear. Rowan can’t count on his fingers and toes how many times he’s had to tell that man not to curse on the headset.

 _That’s a terrible idea,_ Lorcan complains. Rowan can hear the frown in his voice. _How old do you have to be to be president? I need to move._

Connall responds, hushed but thoughtful. _Thirty-five._

 _What’s she, like, twenty-two?_ Lorcan asks.

A sigh from the quieter twin. _Twenty-eight._

There’s soft muttering. Counting. Then Fenrys declares, _President Aelin Galathynius 2027!_

“That’s not an election year,” Rowan interrupts softly.

 _Fuck,_ Fenrys exclaims. _Man, I should pay more attention—_

Mr. Galathynius eyes him from across the stage, and Rowan stands a little straighter.

“Gentlemen, let’s focus,” Rowan cuts Fenrys off, and the group falls silent, chastised.

“With the aid of this organization, it is our hope to help those less fortunate by providing tools and services for those in our community who need them, such as education, resume workshops, and job fairs—”

 _Suspicious movement on the Westside._ The earpiece says. Fenrys’s voice has lost all its humor.

Rowan scans that side of the crowd, but he doesn’t see anyone acting strangely. Aelin continues giving her speech, ignorant of what might be going on that could threaten her. That’s what she has Rowan for, and Aelin trusts him.

 _Male. Blue hat. Shades. Hand in jacket._ Connall describes in quick, low tones.

Rowan continues scanning the crowd, trying to locate the threat without attracting attention to himself. He feels Aelin’s attention on him, even as she keeps giving the speech. She knows the whole thing by heart; Aelin is never unprepared. She’s spent the last few nights reciting the entire thing to Rowan; hell, Rowan could have filled in for her if she’d gotten sick.

Though, that conversation would have required a lot of explaining.

“—hopes to help the community thrive and prosper, and I speak for all of us at Terrasen Industries and the Orynth Group for Empowerment when I say that we look forward to working alongside all of you—”

_Vaughan, on your left._

_Copy._ A man of few words, Vaughan.

Rowan spots the dark-haired man quickly and finds the target from there. Sure enough, a man fitting Connall’s provided description approaches the stage from the west side, head ducked low, and a hand tucked into his jacket.

“Vaughan,” Rowan whispers, muscles tensing. He can see clearly that their teammate is trying to weave his way through the crowd, but it’s taking too long for Rowan’s liking.

 _I’m on it,_ Lorcan says, cutting across the crowd from another direction. Rowan doesn’t think he’s breathing anymore.

Everything slows down, and a lot of things happen at once. The man in the baseball cap makes eye contact with Lorcan, and Vaughan breaks out of the crowd, still too far away to help. The man pulls a gun from his coat, and finally, finally, Aelin falters in her speech-giving.

The gun fires, and Rowan yanks Aelin from the podium with an arm around her waist. He all but throws her to the ground, covering her body with his own. Fenrys snatches Mr. and Mrs. Galathynius offstage when Rowan goes for Aelin, and Connall tries to manage the crowds, begins an open dialogue with the local police.

The crowd scatters as Lorcan pins the man to the ground. Vaughan disarms the gun. It’s loaded with blanks—not that Rowan hears him announce that fact. His adrenaline has kicked in, and all he can think about is that someone pulled _a gun on Aelin_.

Rowan’s going to have hell to pay for this, but right now, he’s not really worried about that. He’s concerned about her. Aelin’s bright eyes are locked with his, wide with surprise, and a little bit of fear; belatedly, Rowan wonders what he looks like, what expression he wears. He's been told he looks terrifying in a dire circumstance, which isn't necessarily a bad thing in his line of work, but he'd also hate for Aelin to find him so.

Once Vaughan declares it safe, Rowan rises from his position covering Aelin. She bolts upright, stunned; those brilliant eyes of hers are on fire even as her face remains pale with shock.

“Fuck!” She swears under her breath, “Now everyone’s going to talk about how someone shot at me and totally ignore the point!”

Rowan’s laugh is a little incredulous, “I take it you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Aelin sighs. A mischievous smile takes over her face, “My big, strong bodyguard protected me.”

“I hate you,” he tells her, but the words hold no heat.

Aelin all but shoves him away, moving to the podium to handle the situation. Cameras are flashing, and people are yelling at Aelin all sorts of questions: How does she feel about what just happened? What are her opinions on gun control? Should the attacker be punished? Is Aelin upset about the fact that her security let a madman slip through?

She isn’t, Aelin assures the cameras, but her father certainly is.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s to trying to characterize abandoned (neglected? idk.) SJM characters... Like, Vaughan, who even are you? Where’d you go? What plot thread cast you out? What was your purpose? ...Anyway, here we are. I look forward to your reactions!

The next phase of Rowan’s plan was never supposed to have to go into effect. It’s the part that only happens because something else happened that wasn’t supposed to—his team failed.

The men relocate the VIPs to a room in the back of the venue, protected from prying eyes and ears, and guarded by venue security and the police. Rowan and his team are there to prevent, not react, so they’re forced to step to the side and let the authorities handle things.

Rowan isn’t happy about it, but it is what it is.

“What the hell happened out there?” Rhoe Galathynius turns on Rowan once they’re in private. Rowan doesn’t have any answers, and he’s not very happy about it either. All he can do is let Aelin’s father yell at him. Mr. Galathynius is scared, and people get mad when they’re scared.

“Rhoe,” Evalin tries to intercede, but her husband persists.

“Do I not pay you to protect my daughter?”

Rowan grits his teeth at that not so friendly reminder but remains silent. He doesn’t think Rhoe actually wants him to speak, and yet, “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Dad!” Aelin yells when she enters the room. Fenrys is hot on her tail. “Shit, the gun didn’t even have real bullets! Chill.”

Her mother looks as if she'd rather do anything else.

“But what if it did?” her father snaps back.

Aelin’s eyes darken with her anger. Perhaps, she gets that fire from her dad. “Then, Rowan would probably be dead right now.”

That, at last, brings her father to silence.

“The bigger question is,” Aelin looks around the space, taking in the faces in the room. Connall and Lorcan stand on the other side of the room, pretending not to listen to Rowan’s ass chewing. They look sorry, though, but Rowan is in charge, so he takes the blame.

Satisfied to find no outsiders, Aelin continues, “Who the fuck tried to shoot me today? And what did I do to piss them off?”

All eyes fall to Rowan. His jaw clenches on its own.

“You don’t know yet,” Rhoe’s eyes burn.

“We’re waiting for the authorities,” Rowan explains. “They have jurisdiction.”

“Right,” Aelin is clearly trying to keep her father from speaking anymore. “Well, there’s nothing else for us to do here. Party is a bust.

She turns her attention to Rowan, “Will you drive me home then? I’m beat.”

“Fireheart, we’ve already ordered a car,” Aelin’s mother explains. Her daughter shrugs.

“Rowan’s got me.” Aelin turns to leave, pauses when she notices that Rowan hesitates. “C’mon, Buzzard. The very least you can do is drive a girl home after jumping on top of her like that.”

“Aelin,” Evalin hisses, clearly shocked.

Rowan can hear his team trying to hide their snickers. He shoots them a warning glare, and Fenrys and Lorcan fall silent. Connall tilts his head to the side, observing.

The youngest Galathynius just gives her parents a cheeky grin before leaving. Rowan follows closely behind. He tells himself it’s to avoid Fenrys and his knowing looks. Yet, Rowan knows it’s because, in reality, he just needs to see her home safe, now she made it there in one piece.

—

“Want to come inside?” Aelin asks quietly when they arrive at her uptown castle in the sky.

He sighs quietly. It’s been a really long day, and Rowan’s in a horrible mood. He needs to decompress, and then he needs to file a million different reports, check-in with Fenrys, and update his resume because Rhoe is clearly about to fire him. He’s just not in the mood.

Rowan says as much, and Aelin gives him a wan smile. Her eyes drop to his lips for a second, but she reconsiders going in for a kiss. People are watching Aelin closely on a good day. She probably shouldn’t even be in the front seat right now; protocol dictates she ride in the back.

Still, Aelin reaches over and squeezes his thigh.

“It wasn’t your fault, Rowan,” her voice is soft and kind. It makes him feel worse. “Don’t let yourself take it too hard, alright? I’ll see you in the morning.”

Rowan looks away first, and with the apparent dismissal, Aelin gets out of the car without another word. He watches her go, paranoid, and filled with self-loathing. Yet, she's safe here; the walk from her parking garage to the penthouse is secure, private. He doesn't need to be concerned.

Fuck, Aelin got shot at this evening. Even if the bullets were blanks, that doesn’t make it any better, make it make any more sense. Rowan’s never lost a client before, and he’d really like to not start with Aelin.

In the morning, the team has a meeting with Rhoe. Aelin promised him she’d be there to back them up, but Rowan isn’t sure what good that will do. Aelin may be the CEO of Terrasen, but Rhoe Galathynius is Rhoe Galathynius.

His cell rings. It’s Vaughan.

“The man is a former employee of Terrasen,” his teammate says, cutting to the chase. “He was laid off in the restructuring.”

Shit. This was going to be a nightmare for the family.

“Thanks for the update,” Rowan grits out, prepared to hang up. Vaughan isn’t the type that needs to be guided into giving the information. It makes him very efficient.

“There’s more,” the other man says. Vaughan sounds hesitant, which is terrible news for Rowan. “He says he was approached by someone to do it, offered money. Petty cash, but the guy already had the motivation to make Terrasen look bad. He just needed a nudge.”

“Any leads on who?”

This time Vaughan’s frustration leaks through the connection via a sigh. If there’s one thing the guy hates more than talking, it’s not knowing the answers. “No. The police say they’re working on it.”

“Fabulous,” Rowan sighs. The police could definitely be better in this city. Corruption is known to run rampant in the force. “We’ll deal with it.”

“Rowan?”

He tries to think of a time he’s ever heard his teammate talk this much. Rowan can only think of one; it was a long time ago, during younger and more carefree years, and involved them smoking some things they shouldn’t have been smoking. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I fucked up,” Vaughan says, and Rowan’s heart twists. “I know you’re going to get your ass chewed tomorrow, again, and it’s—“

“Hey, man,” Rowan interrupts. “It’s no one’s fault. You and I both know how it is, and as the one in charge, I’m responsible. No one got hurt. It was a good day.”

The line is silent. Then, “Still.”

“Lieutenant, get some sleep,” Rowan tells him, falling back on old ways. If anyone was going to stay up and dwell on this, it was Rowan. “That’s an order.”

“Yessir.” The line goes dead.

It just didn’t make sense. Why would someone pay a disgruntled former employee to shoot blanks at Aelin? A real enemy would have given the man real bullets, and it was no secret that the Galathynius family had plenty of those. Did they just want Aelin to look bad? Make the company look bad? Ruin the announcement?

It just seemed too simple. Too small. Though, Rowan told himself that was because he was used to expecting the worse, used to looking for real combative enemies around every corner. Enemies with bombs and automated rifles. In war zones.

Rowan’s both relieved and irritated when his phone rings. Lorcan is on the other end, and it sounds like he’s in some kind of club. Lovely.

“Where the fuck, are you?” Rowan asks, already turning the car back on. He knows these calls well.

-

Lorcan is, in fact, at a club. Rowan finds him wasted at the bar, picking a fight with the bartender.

It’s Elide.

“I already told you,” she hisses at Lorcan, hackles raised. “You’re done for the night. Where the fuck is your friend at? Did you even call him? I’m about to kick you out.”

“Here,” Rowan says. Elide’s wide eyes recognize Rowan immediately, and she blushes, caught expressing that mean side Rowan’s heard about. His lips threaten to smile.

“Oh, hey, Rowan,” she says, voice exponentially softer.

“Hey Rowan,” Lorcan copies her, playing his voice to make it sound weird. Elide’s eyes ignite in a way Rowan didn’t think was possible. She glares at his friend.

“Whiskey neat for me,” Rowan slides into the seat next to Lorcan’s, eyes his friend. “And water for this guy. You can poison it if you want. I won’t tell.”

“Rowan, what the hell?”

Elide laughs softly and turns away from them to get the drinks ready. Once Elide is out of earshot, Rowan turns his angry green eyes on his friend, disapproval shining in them. Lorcan juts his chin up, prepared for the scolding. The stubborn bastard.

“I thought you weren’t doing this anymore,” Rowan says with a voice made of ice. Elide returns with the drinks before Lorcan can defend himself, but she disappears quickly, paling at the venom in Rowan’s voice. He wants to feel a little bad for scaring her, but he’s pissed.

Lorcan glares at his water. Doesn’t answer.

For a while, Rowan sits with him, sipping his whiskey. Lorcan is very, very drunk and very unwilling to talk unless it’s to make snide comments at Elide. Apparently, they don’t like each other.

Rowan’s going to keep Lorcan at his apartment for the night, so he can’t call out of work tomorrow. It was a bad day for all of them. Rowan doesn’t want to hold this against Lorcan, but the guy can be a real dumbass sometimes.

“I’ve gotta piss,” the drunk man announces, and Lorcan leaves Rowan alone at the bar.

Elide reappears. “That guy is a dick—your friends with _him_?”

“He works for me,” Rowan tells her. Adds, “We served together. I’d say we—tolerate each other.”

“Oh,” Elides eyes soften. She’s kind-hearted, even under the tough exterior. “Should I keep serving him? When he shows up? Or should I call someone?”

“How often does he come?”

Elide gives him a look that says it’s too often.

“Hello,” a smooth voice interrupts their conversation. Rowan looks to his left to find an unfamiliar woman in Lorcan’s seat. She’s attractive, with miles of light hair and cerulean eyes. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

This is not Rowan’s scene, he thinks immediately. There’s too much noise, too many people. The lights have colors in them, and the music is really just a synthetic bass beat with no real soul to it. No, Rowan definitely hasn’t been here before; he likes his “dingy bar” better.

“Rowan.” He doesn’t know why he says it, what possesses him, but he does.

“Remelle.” The woman’s smile is sharp. She turns her cold eyes on Elide, dismissal in them. “Can I get a filthy martini?”

Elide is very obviously trying to hide her scowl; she looks to Rowan for some sort of confirmation, but he’s not about to get between two women. He likes to think he’s smarter than that. The look on the bartender’s face says he’ll pay for it later.

-

Rowan chats idly with the woman and sips at his drink. She’s sharp-witted with a voice made of sticky honey. Rowan finds himself engaging with her quickly, tempted by the opportunity to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t know him, doesn’t want to check on him or console him. It’s a nice change.

Lorcan returns a little while later slightly soberer. He raises his brow at the sight of the woman perched on his stool, who's flashing feline smiles at Rowan and reaching for the man’s forearm.

Rowan perks up at his friend, “Ready to go?”

Lorcan’s smile is wicked. “Are you?”

He rises from his seat and passes a business card to Elide. They share a look. _Call me if you need me_ , it says.

“Do you have a business card for me? Remelle catches his wrist as he leaves. “I’d like to see you again.”

Rowan eyes her curiously. He doesn’t dislike this woman, but part of him also feels like there’s a coldness to her. Her eyes lack warmth, and her skin is free of any flush. No passion.

“Probably better we don’t,” he tells her, and Rowan slips into the crowd with Lorcan.

In the truck, Lorcan is incredulous. “Dude! She was HOT. Go back in there and get her number. Fuck, go back in there and get _her_.”

Rowan grunts, annoyed. “And do what? Take her and my drunk friend back to my apartment? To keep me company while I file reports?”

“Man, you gotta get laid,” Lorcan sighs, dropping his head to the window with a thump. Rowan shoots him a look and turns the ignition, pulling away from the bar without another thought spared for Remelle.

He's got other things to worry about.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up: mild nsfw content at the end. Just a little.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Lorcan walks down the hallway the next morning, giving him an incredulous look. “You got a secret girlfriend or something? Wait, is that why you wouldn’t give that chick at the bar your number?”

Rowan’s face asks the question for him.

Lorcan explains, “You’ve got girl shit everywhere. So, either you like your bath products in pretty colors—which no judgment man—or you’ve gotta girl. Which is it? Spill stoic one.”

“Shut up, or I’ll leave you here,” Rowan tells him unkindly. “And then I’ll have to fire you for not showing up to our mandatory meeting with the Galathynius family.”

Lorcan looks appropriately scolded. Then he smirks. “So, it is a girl. About damn time.”

“Excuse me?” Rowan’s voice is a warning.

Yet, the friend in front of him is perhaps his least sensitive. That’s not true, Rowan decides. There’s always Fenrys.

“I’m just saying—and no offense man—but it’s been how long?”

Rowan glares, and Lorcan realizes his mistake almost immediately. They don’t talk about that. Everyone knows that. Only Lorcan is dumb enough to bring it up. Fenrys is smarter than that.

“Let’s go,” Rowan tells him, leaving Lorcan pale and gaping in the living room. Rowan leaves the door open and doesn’t look back to see if Lor is following, but the muttered curses help Rowan determine how far behind he is.

Rowan is in the car before Lorcan clears the building, and it takes a lot out of him to not run his friend over. Murder is frowned upon in modern society; besides, Rowan does give a shit about Lor, even if he wants to throttle him pretty frequently.

—

The meeting goes just as shitty as the last one. Rowan stands front and center and takes the brunt of the scolding. He answers Mr. Galathynius’s questions, and his team only interrupts to offer the most pertinent additions. None of them want to be the focus of the man’s attention.

“I think that’s enough,” Aelin interrupts her father when the termination threats begin. Her eyes flare with a warning. She won’t pick a fight with him here in front of everyone, but Rowan can see that she really, really wants to. “Let me remind you that Rowan and his team work for me now—not you.”

Her father flushes, and Evalin Galathynius reaches out and places a hand on his arm to console him. “I’m still the President of Terrasen Industries, Aelin, and I get a say in who works here.”

“You get an opinion, yes,” Aelin is quiet when she speaks. Rowan hasn’t ever seen her so reserved in her anger before. Even when they weren’t on familiar terms, Aelin’s passion was always made of white-hot fire.

Evalin interrupts before her husband can speak, “Gentlemen, if you’ll keep us informed of your progress, it’d be very appreciated. I think my family needs to have a meeting of our own now.”

Her bright eyes, the mirror image of her daughter’s, are apologetic. The men accept the dismissal, and Rowan spares one last glance at Aelin before he goes. She doesn’t even acknowledge he’s leaving.

—

“So, this is Rowan Whitethorn’s office,” Aelin purrs and startles Rowan from his work. He’d been so absorbed in the reports from the police that he hadn’t heard someone enter, and he’d left the door open. Rowan liked to keep it that way, let his people feel like they were always welcome to stop by.

“Gotta say,” she muses, hands on her hips, and one hip popped to the side. “I thought it’d be darker, all creepy and mysterious. I’m a little disappointed. There’s no bat cave or anything, and, like, you’ve got a ficus.”

She waves at the offending plant, and Rowan has to fight a smile.

“Sorry to let you down,” Rowan tells her, leaning back in his chair. He feels skittish all of a sudden. Aelin has never been down to his office. It feels weird, like she’s intruding, which is just funny because Aelin practically lives at his house on the weekends.

They watch each other for a while. Aelin is clearly hesitant about taking a seat. Then she says, “I missed you last night.”

“Sorry,” he tells her because it’s what you do. “I just—wasn’t in the headspace for company.”

A cloud passes over her eyes. Aelin doesn’t explain the look, though. She just presses on. “I came to check on you. The meeting this morning—my dad was a real dick to you.”

“As is his right,” Rowan reminds her.

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “Don’t take his side. That’s just confusing—because I’m trying to be on your side right now.”

Rowan chuckles. “Thanks, Fireheart.”

Her smile is gentle. Rowan never meant to start calling her that, her mother’s pet name for her, but it just sort of happened. A lot of things just happen when it comes to Aelin.

“So,” she begins, and the look on her face tells Rowan that she’s come to discuss business without her screaming father. He sits up straight in his chair to better pay attention.

In his closed-in office, Aelin feels comfortable enough to come around the desk and lean against it, to the side of his seat. Rowan resists the temptation to reach out and touch her; they’re still at work, even if no one can see them.

“Someone shot at me… with fake ammo,” Aelin muses. Rowan nods in confirmation. “A former employee, you said?”

“Uh, yeah,” Rowan flips through the stack of documents on his table readily, procuring the old employee file. “Stevan Page. He didn’t make the cut during your father’s restructuring.”

Aelin frowns deeply, taking the file from his hands, warm fingers brushing his own. Rowan observes her as Aelin absorbs the information in the record; there’s nothing of note for Stevan. He was an average employee, never got in trouble or otherwise. His lay off just happened.

“I think I’ll go down to the station later,” Aelin tells him thoughtfully. “I know some people, and maybe a little pressure would do them some good.”

Rowan smirks. “You’re so impatient.”

“Hey, like you aren’t dying for the answers, too,” Aelin shoots him a look. “I can’t believe you aren’t already down there, growling and glaring.”

“I don’t growl,” Rowan growls.

Aelin throws her head back when she laughs, and Rowan’s stomach flutters with fondness. He wants to be annoyed, and he is a little offended, but the sight of Aelin happy makes it worth it.

—

Lorcan is waiting for him after close of business. Somehow, Aelin persuaded Rowan to go with her to the station. As expected, they didn’t have anything to offer, but the sight of a Galathynius in their building had everyone standing a little taller.

Lorcan glares at him when Rowan pulls up, “Where the hell were you? I looked everywhere.”

Aelin hops out of the back seat of the vehicle. She flashes that award-winning smile in Lorcan’s direction, “I made Rowan take me on a field trip.”

“Oh?” Lorcan grins at Rowan. He focuses on keeping his face impassive. After Lorcan’s observation this morning about a girlfriend, Rowan doesn’t want to give him any clues. “Did you have fun, Mr. Whitethorn?”

“So much fun,” he answers flatly. Lorcan eyes them curiously, then shrugs it off. “Alright, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Rowan sighs. Aelin flashes him a smile over Lorcan’s shoulder, and then she disappears into the building. He offered to drive her home, but Aelin’s mother ordered a family dinner “to kiss and make up.”

—

Aelin texts him as he settles in for the night. **Dinner was awful. Dad and I got into a huge fight,** the text reads. Another follows right away: **Now, my mother isn’t speaking to either of us.**

The bubble pops up, telling Rowan that Aelin has not yet finished her story. He’s making a late-night snack, so he sets the phone down to wait for her response. Rowan’s surprised when it rings.

“Hello?” Rowan answers without checking the caller ID. He’s expecting Aelin, ready for a bitching session.

“Rowan Whitethorn,” a female voice says to him.

“That’s me,” he says, trying to place the voice. It’s familiar to him, but Rowan isn’t sure from where. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Remelle,” the voice tells him. “From the bar yesterday?”

Rowan is impressed with her forwardness, but also he’s suspicious, “How did you get my number?”

“Your friend gave it to me,” she explains.

“What friend?” Rowan asks, curious. If Lorcan was at the bar again, then Rowan was going to murder him.

“That bartender,” Remelle says smoothly. Rowan doesn’t believe her for a second.

“You mean to say,” Rowan counters, “that you swiped the business card I gave her.”

A bright, false laugh. “Borrowed it. I gave it back. That mousy thing didn’t even notice.”

“That's…” Rowan trails off, searching for the right word. “Quite bold of you, actually.”

Another laugh, this one is a little more genuine. Rowan waits for the explanation, for the apology for overstepping. It doesn’t come.

“I was curious if you’d like to meet sometime,” Remelle tells him without shame. He can appreciate that. “For coffee.”

—

It’s late by the time that Rowan finishes with his food. As he double checks his alarms, he realizes he forgot all about Aelin’s texts, and Rowan swears, pulling up the thread of messages.

 **Do you want to meet?** Aelin asked him. His stomach feels uneasy, as if the prospect of seeing her outside of work makes him nervous; Rowan shoves the feeling aside instead of examining it further.

 **Not tonight.** Rowan feels a flash of guilt for turning her down. He knows how Aelin can get when there’s strife within her family; the Galathynius family breaks the mold when it comes to well-to-do bloodlines. They’re impossibly close. **Sorry about dinner.**

The ellipses appears and disappears a few times, as Aelin considers her response. Rowan watches it with dread, anticipation.

 **Next time then,** Aelin responds at last. **Have a good night, I suppose.**

It’s well within their agreement for Rowan to turn her down; besides, they typically make a point to stay away from one another during the workweek. Their jobs require the occasional contact, more now since the speech disaster, but Aelin and Rowan aren’t supposed to like each other. They’re not supposed to want to hang out.

So, then why does Rowan feel so terrible as he climbs into his empty cold bed? The smell of Aelin’s perfume clings to the sheets, and immediately, he misses her. Rowan sighs; he’s ridiculous.

—

“Aelin?” Rowan asks, blinking wearily at the woman standing on the other side of his front door. He’s half asleep and confused by the knocking.

“Hey,” she says to him, a little breathless. Aelin steps into the apartment and Rowan lets her. He’s still trying to process what’s going on when she lifts herself up onto her toes and starts to kiss him.

He responds on autopilot, but Rowan pulls away when he catches up. “It’s, like, 3 in the morning,” he says between Aelin’s kisses. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what’re you doing here, Aelin?”

“I know,” Aelin says, taking the hem of his shirt in her hands and lifting it up. Rowan raises his arms and helps her efforts to undress him. He grunts softly when she presses her lips to his chest, trailing the tattoo there with teeth and tongue.

“But I missed you,” Aelin continues, fingers hooking on the elastic around his hips and tugging his pants downward. Rowan groans, reaching for her body, pulling off all the clothes she still wears.

“Missed me? Or my cock?” He asks in a low voice as he mouths at her neck; Rowan can’t decide if he’s annoyed or not that she’s come over despite his declination. Yet, now that she’s here, he finds he doesn’t mind all that much.

“Can it be both?” She counters, breathless. Aelin leans into his body, fingers pressing into his skin.

“Fuck,” Rowan hisses as her fingers wrap around him. His forehead drops to hers, and Aelin bites her lip as she strokes him, getting him ready for her.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she tells him with a smile. He groans, and Aelin uses the opportunity to swipe her tongue into his mouth. With her hand on him, Rowan is powerless. He groans as Aelin’s talented fingers touch him, and Aelin starts to moan as he grows harder with each press of her fingers.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” She pants, lips brushing his skin as she talks. Rowan groans in response. “You want me, Rowan?”

Her words ignite something in Rowan. He reaches for her thighs, lifting her into the air; Aelin wraps her legs around his waist while Rowan walks them towards the nearest wall.

“Yeah, I do,” he answers. Aelin gasps when her back meets the wall. “Let me show you how much.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me I'm cute or I'll tickle you.”

Rowan wakes up to a face full of blonde hair. He huffs a laugh, the sound tinged with both annoyance and amusement; Aelin’s hair is _everywhere_ in the apartment. It’s something he likes to complain about, the length of it, the amount of shedding one woman does in a day.

 _You certainly weren’t complaining about it last night_ , she’d purred when the one and only time he brought it up. Rowan’s every thought melted at the gleam in her eyes, and he’d promptly caged her against the kitchen counter to tell her just what he thought about it.

“What are you smiling about?” Aelin grumbles, face lifting from where it was pressed against his stomach. Her arms are vices around his middle; Rowan wasn’t going anywhere until Aelin did.

The man smiles, reaching out to tug at an unruly lock of Aelin’s hair, “Nothin’.”

A warning shines in those golden irises; Aelin growls, “Rowan Whitethorn, are you laughing at my _hair_?”

“Maybe,” he can’t fight off the grin that spreads across his face at her outrage. Aelin huffs, and the rats’ nest atop her hair shifts. Rowan can’t help it, he breaks into laughter. “Definitely,” he corrects.

Aelin scowls, rolling away from him to attempt to salvage her hair, “It’s not _my fault_ that someone can’t keep their hands out of it!”

Rowan’s laughter fades, and his attention turns predatory. He does really like Aelin’s hair, especially during sex— running his hands through it, wrapping it around his fingers and pulling on it. His eyes drift across her body, all the naked skin she’s revealed while trying to tame her locks.

“Tell me, I’m cute!” Rowan’s lover demands, shying away from him as he reaches for her body, wanting to pull her close for another round. It’s early enough; they have time.

Rowan grunts at being denied, but Aelin only repeats herself. The threat in her voice is clear, even as the tone pitches too high to be particularly worrying, “Tell me I’m cute, or I’ll—I’ll tickle you.”

Rowan just rolls his eyes, rising to the challenge, “You wouldn’t _dare_.”

“You underestimate me, Buzzard,” Aelin hisses. Rowan doesn’t miss the way her eyes drop to his lips, then snap back. He grins.

Aelin launches herself at him, and Rowan yelps. They become a tangle of limbs and bedsheets as Aelin’s nimble fingers trail up and down Rowan’s sides. He’d appreciated their talent last night when she’d shown up at his door unannounced, but now Rowan was very, very aggravated with them.

“ _Ace_ ,” Rowan gasps. “Please, _stop._ ”

“I’ll stop,” Aelin tells him mercilessly, “when you apologize and tell me how _fucking_ _cute_ I am.”

Rowan swears at her, but Aelin is relentless, pinning him down her own gloriously naked body, tickling him silly. “Tell me, I’m cute!”

“You are—positively adorable,” he gasps.

Aelin ceases in her attack, eyes shining with amusement, and then Rowan remembers something: he’s stronger than Aelin. The wicked woman.

In a heartbeat, he has their positions reversed. His hips pin hers to the mattress, and Rowan’s hands take Aelin by the wrists. She sucks in a breath; her voice is husky when she tells him, “No fair.”

Rowan’s gaze darkens, drinking in the sight of Aelin breathless and underneath him. The dominance doesn’t last long; Aelin’s lips meet his without delay. The kissing its own battle of wills.

Rowan tangles his fingers back into her hair, and Aelin moans his name as he sets on a path for his own, sweet revenge.

*

“Well, someone looks like he’s in a good fucking mood,” Fenrys’s cunning face appears at Rowan’s office door. Maybe he should start closing that thing; it makes him seem too available. Even if that is the point.

It’s true. Rowan did have a good morning teasing and tormenting Aelin. He wanted to curse whatever god guided Aelin to the discovery that he was ticklish; to say she was _thrilled_ by it was an understatement.

Rowan grumbles an excuse, and Fenrys grins, “And you were late to the office this morning, boss.”

“By three minutes,” Rowan says with a glare. They’d gotten distracted in the shower as well, and afterward, Aelin was dead set on convincing him to call out of work. She’d nearly succeeded.

 _I’m the boss,_ she’d argued. _I promise not to fire you._

“I don’t think in all the years I’ve known your sour ass,” Fenrys says around a grin, “that I’ve ever seen you be anything less than fifteen minutes to _anywhere._ ”

“I overslept,” Rowan hedges.

Fenrys’s grin doesn’t fade, “Thereby, implying you slept.”

“It’s a natural process,” Rowan tells him dryly. “People tend to go a little crazy when they go without.”

“I know I go a little crazy when I go without a little something else,” Fenrys raises a brow. It’s a challenge. He’s on to him.

“Just say what you came here to say, asshole,” Rowan growls. His best friend beams; it’s as close to a victory as he’ll get.

“What’s with all the chick stuff in your apartment?”

“There’s no _chick stuff_ in my apartment,” Rowan replies flatly.

Fenrys yanks his phone out of his pocket and taps furiously at the screen. When he turns it towards Rowan, a picture of a bathroom glows. Rowan recognizes the place; it’s his bathroom with all of Aelin’s belongings littering the place. She really needed to clean up after herself.

“You boys normally share pictures of bathrooms?” Rowan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Pretty fucking weird, Fen.”

Another feral grin. “Who’s the girl?”

“No one.”

“Do I know her?”

“This is harassment.”

Fenrys’s eyes light up; he opens his mouth to spew some other bullshit when Vaughan interrupts them.

“We got a problem.”

*

 **Hey, sorry to bother you _,_** Aelin writes. **Did I leave my laptop at your apartment?**

“Someone _broke into_ Aelin’s apartment?” Connall gapes at the group. Word spreads fast in this building, and the rest of the _cadre_ —as Aelin dubbed it, despite Rowan’s protests—gathered quickly in his office.

 **No,** Rowan types back. **Just that ridiculous fucking purse of yours.**

“Yeah,” Lorcan says, from his corner. “All that effort to break into a secure building, and the idiot didn’t take anything.”

 **Asshole,** Aelin responds.

“No, they took something,” Connall says, peering at his phone and bringing Rowan’s attention away from his phone. Fenrys’s brother looks to Rowan, but it’s the blonde twin that eyes Rowan curiously. He’s not usually the type to check his phone during important meetings.

“Aelin just texted that her laptop is not at work, and it wasn’t at the apartment either,” Connall shares.

So, that was why Aelin texted. Rowan locks his jaw to tamp down on the surprising flash of jealousy and something else that hits him. She didn’t call him when she returned to her apartment and discovered the break-in; instead, Aelin called the cops, which in turn notified the Galathynius security. What a fucking mess.

“They wanted her laptop?” Lorcan’s face scrunches up, processing the news. “What for?”

“For all of the information stored on it,” Rowan grunts. “Terrasen information.”

He’d dropped her off at her apartment before coming to work this morning. Aelin pouted the whole way, still trying to wear him down, trying to get him to call out; she was a persistent creature. Now Rowan wishes he’d gone upstairs with her. Not that they’d ever manage to explain away that coincidence.

“What does the detective think?” Vaughan asks.

All eyes fall to Connall. His dark eyes flit between each of the men in the room; when they land on Rowan, Connall answers, “Detective Westfall isn’t very... forthcoming.”

Lorcan grunts, a noise of assent.

“What’s the problem exactly?” Rowan asks. When Aelin dragged him down to the station yesterday, the police were more than willing to help out. Then again, Aelin had a way about her, could get what she wanted from most people.

“We’ve been accused of meddling in an official investigation,” Connall’s voice is a flat echo. “Detective Westfall has assured us he will call if there’s anything relevant to our jobs.”

“Protecting Aelin _is_ our job,” Rowan bites out. He feels it as all eyes fall on him; his team doesn’t miss a thing. That’s why they’re his team.

“And we’ll keep doing that,” Fenrys says. “But in the meantime, we need to find out what Aelin had on that laptop that would motivate someone to break into her home and steal it.”

Fenrys sends that mischievous smile Rowan's way, "That sounds like a job for you, boss."


End file.
